


Top 4 Myths About Womp Rats

by lucymonster



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Character acquires pet rats; everything's great; rats are great, Gen, Rats, Womp Rats (Star Wars), Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: Marshal Cara Dune's day gets off to a bad start when a crazed old lady tries to sneak several crates full of offworld vermin onto Nevarro.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	Top 4 Myths About Womp Rats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SassySnowperson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassySnowperson/gifts).



**_Top 4 Myths About Womp Rats: The Womp Lover Hololog, posted 29-2-7 ABY_ **

_Most people think of womp rats as pests and vermin. If you grew up in the Outer Rim, you probably feel sick at the thought of even touching a womp rat, let alone having one in your home!_

_But domesticated womp rats – known as fancy womp rats by the small but dedicated community that loves them – are nothing like the feral animals that hunt in packs on desert worlds and terrorise local moisture farmers. In fact, fancy womp rats belong to a different species entirely: their wild ancestor is the Ambrian brown womp rat, which is smaller and less aggressive than the better-known Tatooine strain. These specially bred critters grow to no more than half a metre in length and make gentle, affectionate pets._

_In this log, I’ll share the top 4 things you probably get wrong about womp rats, and maybe even convince you to adopt some wompies of your very own!_

**_Myth 4: Womp rats cause grunge fever...._ **

‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ says Cara, pitching her voice at the midpoint of polite civil servant and soldier with licence to kill. She’s neither, of course. Not these days. But since taking up her new post, she’s learned that the voice is one nearly everyone responds to. ‘This planet is under strict crisis orders while the New Republic gets things under control. Even if I wanted to exempt you, my hands are tied. You’re bringing known biohazards into Nevarro’s most populous city. You’ll have to go through quarantine, same as anyone else.’

‘They’re not biohazards!’ The woman has started to shake with frustration. Between that, the slightly bulbous eyes and the frizzy grey hair fighting its bun clip, she looks like she’s gripping a live wire. ‘Womp rats don’t spread disease, okay? That’s an urban legend. People who don’t wash their hands after using the vac tube spread disease. Womp rats are some of the cleanest animals around. They wash themselves multiple times a day, which is more than _you_ can say for yourself.’

Cara leans a little heavier on the soldier side of her vocal range. ‘Forty-eight hours, ma’am. That’s how long it takes to be sure our decontamination process has worked. If you don’t like it, you can get back on your ship and go elsewhere.’

‘They’re silk-haired blue agoutis,’ the woman tells Cara, in a tone of dire warning. ‘Bred from my best line of prizewinning show rats. They go for two-fifty credits a pop on the market, and if you harm a hair on one of their heads, you better believe I’ll be suing for the full amount.’ She lets out a breath. Releases the live wire. It leaves behind a singed aura of worry. ‘My poor babies, all alone in a strange place. You’re going to scare months off their precious little lives. I hope you sleep well knowing that.’

**_Myth 3: Womp rats are naturally aggressive...._ **

Maybe it’s the threat of a lawsuit. Maybe it’s Mando and his creepy baby rubbing off on her. Whatever the reason, when Cara passes by quarantine and hears a chorus of agitated squeaks and shrieks coming from inside she drops what she’s doing to make sure the beasts aren’t tearing each other apart.

There are half a dozen carrier crates stacked on top of each other in the largest containment cell, all stamped with a logo that reads _Auntie Val’s Blue Silk Rattery._ The ventilation grilles are opaque, so Cara sets her blaster to stun, eases the door open on the most violently rocking crate, and shines a glowrod through the crack.

She’s seen pictures of womp rats before: they’re big, thuggish creatures with teeth sharp enough to take a chunk out of a luggabeast. They’re not usually shown with soft, silky silver-grey coats or little pink noses that wobble and twitch. There are half a dozen in the crate, and they’re obviously juveniles. Their ears and paws are too big for their bodies. Their tails drag on the ground behind plump round haunches. And they’re _playing._ Two are dangling from a plaited pink rope strung across the crate ceiling. Two more are rolling on the floor, squeaking as they each try to pin the other. One is gnawing a wooden chew toy, while its companion sits nearby grooming itself with tongue and paws. 

All of them take a moment to register her presence. But when they do, they freeze. And then surge.

Cara doesn’t have time to defend. Her blaster drops useless from her hand as the creatures bowl her over. They’re a thrashing swarm, claws digging into fabric and flesh, tails whipping, and she’s going to die like this, with the dagger-teeth of deceptively cute desert rodents buried in her throat –

– or not.

They run straight over her and scatter through the facility. Stupid. Cara has no one to blame but herself. Swearing, she pulls out her comlink and barks down the line for the warden to activate perimeter containment shields. 

**_Myth 2: Womp rats are stupid...._ **

It’s taken the best part of an hour, but they’re down to just one fugitive. Rats one, two and three never made it out of the cell block. Rats four and five were apprehended in a ‘fresher closet, crouched behind the cistern. But rat six is still at large. Bioscans show it’s nowhere inside the quarantine wing. If it’s gotten out into the main facility, they’re going to have to close the whole district office for decontamination. Cara’s screw-up may prove costly.

‘Here, little rat,’ she calls, crouching to check under the bottom shelf of a janitor’s cupboard. ‘Here, you grunge-infested, mangy little–’

_Clang._

It comes from somewhere outside. Cara follows the noise down the hallway to the kitchen, where at last she finds her final culprit, visible only by the long tail trailing from the pantry. A round rump pokes out of a flour sack, wiggling with enthusiasm as its owner digs through the bounty and sends up clouds of white powder. Chunks of torn sacking are scattered across the floor. 

She doesn’t have time for the feeling of surprise affection that wells up inside her at the sight. Not while the cunning little bandit is still free and wreaking havoc. ‘Got you,’ she says, inching closer with a net at the ready. ‘It’s home time.’

The womp rat perks up and looks around, its silver snout white with flour. Its eyes – not evil yellow like in the pictures, but black-blue and unexpectedly intelligent – fix on her. Its ears twitch. It cocks its head to one side, as if listening for more. As if, somehow, it understands her words.

‘Home time?’ Cara tries again.

In a cloud of flour, the womp rat waddles over to her. Docile as anything, it jumps up into the net.

‘You’re kidding me,’ says Cara.

The womp rat is not kidding her. It puts up no fight as she carries it home– the little monster’s been trained. Cara had no idea they could learn commands. But maybe it shouldn’t surprise her. If anyone’s persistent enough to do it, it’s that crazy woman who brought them in. She refuses to be impressed.

 _Tries_ to refuse to be impressed.

Back in its crate, the womp rat joins its brethren in one big sleepy pile. They’re exhausted from their outing. Cara wouldn’t mind a lie down herself.

**_Myth 1: Womp rats don’t feel love...._ **

‘I may have been a little rude the other day,’ says the woman, as she activates the crates’ repulsors and guides them, hovering, out of the cell.

It’s been forty-eight hours. Strictly speaking they should have restarted quarantine after the womp rats got out, but Cara doesn’t have a second fight with this woman in her. The scans showed up clean. That’ll have to do.

‘You know how it is with pets,’ the woman says, patting a crate affectionately. ‘I get a little protective sometimes. But I know you were just doing your job.’ She considers Cara. ‘Hey, I’ll tell you what – I’m on my way to a breeders’ convention to sell this lot. If you want first dibs, I’d be happy to give you a discount as an apology. And as thanks for taking such good care of them. You’d have to take at least two, mind. I never sell them on their own. They’re very social creatures. Get depressed if they’re housed alone.’

Cara laughs. Pets? Her? She’s never been the type to go gooey-eyed over critters. Mando and the kid were bad enough. Even with her new sedentary marshal’s station, there’s no room in her life for even one furry dependent. It’s a nice offer, in the eccentric way she’d expect from someone crazy enough to keep womp rats as companions. But the thought of taking it up is ridiculous. She’s not interested in...

‘Stop that,’ she says, several weeks later, as she’s sitting at her desk poring over the latest batch of memos. ‘It’s not a chew toy. I need it for work, you wretched, freeloading little…’ 

The comlink’s plastoid casing cracks with an audible sound. Six meets Cara’s scowl with a look of unmistakable satisfaction.

She has her office door closed so the womp rats can have some free roam time, and the others have all taken her up on it. Four is dangling from the light fitting. Two is trying to scale a shelf, while Three, perched atop, bats her down. One and Five are rolling around in an upturned waste basket. But Six never strays far from Cara’s side. She likes to sit on the desk while Cara works, grooming her fur and gnawing the office supplies. Likes to nudge Cara’s hand with her snout until Cara takes the hint and scritches her behind the ears. Likes to crawl into Cara’s lap and doze there, warm and heavy and squirmy.

‘I bet the breeder would still take you back,’ Cara tells Six. ‘I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, taking you in. I must’ve been crazy.’

Six drops the comlink and nibbles Cara’s fingers instead. It’s the same gentle, grooming motion she uses on her own fur.

‘Must’ve been crazy,’ Cara repeats.

Six chitters happily.

_That’s it for now, folks! I hope I’ve convinced you to rethink some of the negative stereotypes you’ve heard about these harmless, lovable creatures. If you’re interested in getting pet womp rats of your own, the ‘How to Adopt’ page of this site can point you to reputable breeders in almost every sector._

_Thoughts? Questions? Suggestions for future logs? Let me know in the comments!_

_The Womp Lover xoxo_


End file.
